


"Over my dead body," He said

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: Alan can't catch a break, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 10:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12652044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Honestly, I was gonna make Alan's fate worse and be more fitting of the title, but then I realized I might not earn fans from that. Especially now that my entire audience are people who love this ship but have to deal with the fact that I'm the only writer for it.





	"Over my dead body," He said

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I was gonna make Alan's fate worse and be more fitting of the title, but then I realized I might not earn fans from that. Especially now that my entire audience are people who love this ship but have to deal with the fact that I'm the only writer for it.

It isn't quite wintering, but it feels like it. The cold, so god damn cold, autumn breeze… it pushes past him, indelicately brushing his skin. But he remains, here, at night in a desert. Alan couldn’t stand it. His short-sleeved t-shirt and flannel garment were not helping him. The writer wished he hadn’t disregarded the several layers of clothes he arrived in Bright Falls wearing. But suppose now he needed to ignore it, he needed to force himself through it, which is why these clothes—these memories—were making him able to carry on. Everything he was doing was because it needed to be done to keep Alice safe. He needed to take care of his own mistakes.

And what mistakes were there?

Well, for one, the champion of light hadn’t intended it… but in the process of assigning roles in his story, he made Mr. Scratch’s vices his strengths. The animal murderer was now more powerful than ever before.  Doppelganger turned Herald of Darkness.

But now, with a change of location—it could possibly improve his odds, wouldn’t it? After all, Alan knew Night Springs better than that bastard. He wrote the damn place into existence for hell’s sake!

Now the real question was how to keep him at bay.

Alan contemplated this as he paced around the remains of the cabin, at the same time preparing to finally step outside. Technically, he had crashed here two days prior, but since the last time he stepped out he had to face the double it took some mental preparation to come out of hiding.

Last time wasn’t so bad, but… he hadn’t prepared well enough then.

Regardless, with no better plan thought out, he walked into the desert (Alan’s brain was more a “worst case scenario generator” rather than a problem solver…it took him lots of thinking to get Casey out of messes).

At first his boots hit the ground hesitantly, but eventually, he walks at a steady pace, causing dust clouds behind himself.

‘So… first order of business: the battery!’ He thinks as he makes his way down to the motel. He’s already mentally preparing what to say and do to get what he needs. Only a little worried. The way he wrote Emma reminds him of Alice when she was younger…Not that he knew her then, but it seemed the photos left little to the imagination. Suppose you always write what you know. Besides, the real reason he was worried was because of the doppelganger, not so much because of Emma.

You see, you could never really know where Mr. Scratch was.

Yet, upon arriving at the sight his anxiety rises. He looks about and spots Emma. With some self-confidence, he somehow manages he approaches her. Yet, she’s so preoccupied with her work she doesn’t even notice him. He’s about to speak up when there’s a grip on him that quickly drags him out of the perimeter of the garage.

He’s about to cuss the other out, but he knows who it is and one of their hands had covered his mouth without a fault, so there’s really no point.

Alan attempts to fight the grip. He kicks backward several times, swinging past the intended target, until one kick lands precisely at the herald’s knee which quickly results in the two of them falling to the dusty ground where the writer struggles to get out of the hold. They, funnily enough, move like worms, with Mr. Scratch rejecting to let go of the other while the other does everything in his power to be set free.

Eventually, Alan bites the doppelganger. Square on the palm. It instantly results in Scratch letting go of his mouth, letting the scream for help escape the writer. But Scratch quickly returns the favor and lands his own sharp teeth onto Alan’s shoulder. The writer yelps out in pain and freezes in the spot while the other’s mouth remains on him. Which it does for a while. Alan feels the steady breathing of the double and it’s unnerving. Meanwhile, as Alan prepares to yell for help again, he sees Emma closing the garage door.

“No, no, no! Emma! Please! Wait!” He attempts, but it’s too late. She shuts the large door with a loud squeak from it which ends with a loud thud, all of it drowning out the sound of his voice.

Mr. Scratch pulls his mouth away from Alan, seemingly almost ripping out the flesh with his canines, but not quite. Thankfully. The herald grabs the other man’s hand and practically ripping the gun out of his hold, throwing it as far away as he could manage. Just in case.

“No use, she’s under my control now, Wake!”

“I hate you…” Alan mutters through gritted teeth, the fear settling into him.

“Love you, too.” The Herald says with a chuckle and kisses the writer on the cheek.

Besides the unnerving feeling settling in his gut, there is also warmth there and it trails down to his toes. Wake is sure it is disgust.

With that in mind, he attempts to elbow the double in the stomach. Several times. But with each blow Scratch just laughs louder and louder.

Eventually, it seems the herald had enough and he headbutts Alan, surprisingly hard considering the lack of space. It momentarily blurs his vision and by the time everything clears and he can finally see what’s what, Scratch is dragging him away by the collar of his shirt.

Wake is proud to say, it only hurt a little. Yet, the stairs were where the real discomfort set in. Scratch then threw him at the door and pinned him there for a second breathing straight into the writer’s face. He reeked of alcohol.  Wake also realized he had dropped his flashlight…dammit.

After a few seconds, the herald trailed his hand down at Alan’s side. However, it seemed to be with no intent besides teasing as it landed on the handle and opened the door, shoving the writer inside.

Ungracefully, the champion of light lands his back on the carpet with a thump. At least that didn’t hurt as much as it could have.

Alan tries getting up, rubbing the back of his head, when Scratch grabs him by his lapel and pulls him to his feet.

“C’mon, Wake! Let’s play fight like real brothers do!” He laughs again and it’s such a sick parody of Alan’s own voice that he shudders. Yet, he watches the other raise his hands in a mock stance of a boxer.

“You are not my brother.” The champion of light retorts, absolutely petrified and it’s obvious on his features. Scratch smirks while throwing punches at Alan, deliberately missing but coming close enough for the writer to be scared of them actually connecting. Eventually, Alan brings up his forearms to protect himself from the doppelganger and attempts to run outside of the room.

But Scratch’s fist collides with Alan’s jaw and he staggers back, hand over his face with the other still up as if it could protect him. The doppelganger walks ahead, with the writer (terrified) stepping away. For a bit, they maintain the same distance until Scratch corners him. Alan’s fight or flight instinct couldn’t be stronger.

They catch him off guard… The punches come in a steady rhythm of a melody that Alan doesn’t want to recognize yet fully knows.  He can’t stand it. He tries to fight back, tossing a couple clumsy swings at the other body who just laughs at his futile attempts. But eventually a real bright idea strikes the writer and he knees the other in the groin. The sad part is that that didn’t cause enough damage to the other, only enough to make him stop punching.

“You little bastard…” The herald growls. Yet, has enough control to take out his knife, to which Alan reacts by attempting to run. Yet Scratch quickly places his hands against the two walls at their sides. “There is nowhere you can go now, buddy.” That condescending tone with malice hiding under, waiting to venomously strike the writer—to say something that will break him... 

“Back off, you shit! You know I can easily write you out of here!” He then attempts to duck under one arm, but Scratch grabs him by his shirt and holds him in front of himself.

“Then why haven’t you done it yet?” Oh no…

“Just back off, Scratch.” His voice distorts once he attempts to pronounce the double’s name and he’s still not used to it… It’s terrifying. Is he really going to die like this? Mr. Scratch’s arm trails into Alan’s hair and grips it tightly. Then, the double smashes his mouth into the other. The kiss is revolting and makes the writer want to hurl. Somehow, he fights against it, trying to push the other away. But eventually, he realizes there is no other option to this, so he slacks against the wall, pulling back as much as he could and bites the Herald’s tongue.

Scratch perks up instantly, but not in the way Alan had anticipated. He moves his hand down from Alan’s hair, trialing it agonizingly slowly to his crotch where he proceeds to cup the writer.  

“This makes you sick, doesn’t it?” Scratch whispers against his skin. It feels hot and wet. The bastard’s tongue follows, trailing patterns onto his neck and ear. Alan can feel his eyes welling up; however, he tries not to cry. This is more so difficult to do when he sees the double unfold his knife and slowly places it at his neck. But he withstands, somehow.

“Now, writer boy, what are we going to do?”

“Fuck you.” He spits.

This evokes a grin. Alan could only fake astonishment at that. That damn thing barely ever left his features and somehow with every waking moment, it haunted the writer.

Scratch trails his knife down. No snide comment, no talk, no nothing. Just bringing the knife down until it rests at the side of Alan’s stomach. As quick as the peck on Alan’s nose that follows the knife goes into his body. Alan yelps out in pain, unaware grabbing and clawing Scratch’s shoulder. It hurts like a son of a bitch. That shit must have forced in the entire blade.

And Alan didn’t feel it, but the tears started running down his face. He only noticed when the other began to lick them away.

“It’s okay, baby… I’m here.” Scratch says in a voice clearly imitating a feminine one. Was this his impression of Alice? “Would you like me to kiss it better?” He drops to his knees, but Wake is in so much conceivable pain that he just writhes against the wall. He feels every single inch of the knife sliding out of him. The tears make it hard to see. It hurts. Oh, god… It hurts. Once the blade is out Scratch licks the blood clean off of it and Alan is this close to collapsing on the floor and throwing up and not just from the (blurred) sight. Then, Scratch raises Alan’s once clean white t-shirt and traces his tongue over the wound. And then the pain is too much. Wake falls onto him, but seemingly the Herald takes this as a hint. And he unbuttons Alan’s pants.

“No, please… don’t. You don’t have to do this.” Alan says, absent-mindedly. His brain feels hazy.

“You’re right, I don’t. I shouldn’t. But you made this too much fun.” He sing-songs back at the other and takes out his member. Roughly, he strokes him into a hard on. It also hurts, but not as much as the wound that just keeps bleeding like hell. Scratch trails his free hand into the wound attempting to stick fingers in, but it results in Alan crying out so he stops. Instead, he collects some blood onto his palm and rubs it all over Alan’s now unfortunately throbbing manhood. Wake weeps. The blood isn’t good lubricant, not at all. It’s rough and the friction is painful. But then the doppelganger envelops his mouth around his cock and begins sucking until Alan unwillingly comes. It’s an unpleasant experience and as if to prove that, the writer cries all the way through it. And it’s not a pretty sight. Tears, red cheeks, snot. The whole thing. Scratch removes his head with a bop. And so it’s over. Alan just passes out.

When he awakes… He wishes he hadn’t. His side aches and it seems the double had more fun with him when he had passed out. Yet, upon inspection, it seems the other had at least stitched him up.

Alan Wake, the bestseller crawls into a ball and sobs uncontrollably on the cheap motel floor.  He had to write himself an advantage.

The manuscript was far from perfect.


End file.
